by R. W. Peake
“None of you bastards better be betting your rations again,” I called out, and I was rewarded by a couple of guilty looks.
I made a mental note to find something particularly odious for them to do the next time we stopped. All in all, it was just a normal day on the march, signaled by the second, then third, and final call of the bucina that was the command to march. Stepping out, the vanguard began the movement, and since we were near the front of the column this day, it was only a few moments before it was our turn. Immediately ahead of us, across the plain, I saw Pompey’s army arrayed on the slopes of the hill. This was not unusual in itself; in fact, it was almost a custom for one army to stand to watch the other as it marched away, just in case there was some trickery planned. As we moved towards the road leading further south, I strained my eyes, thinking that there was something different this time, but I could not tell exactly what. Finally stepping to the side, I stopped, staring at the lines of men across the valley floor, finally recognizing what was different. Instead of standing still as they watched us move, Pompey’s army was actually marching down the hill towards us! I turned my head, looking for signs that someone else had noticed what was happening, and I saw that Caesar was sitting his horse, one hand shielding his eyes, looking over at Pompey and his army. In the next instant, he snapped an order to one of his aides, sending him galloping off down the column, then turned to his personal cornicen who immediately sounded the call to halt the army. Instantly, orders were relayed, the horns sounding twice more, and we ground to a halt. There was an excited buzz of conversation as the men relayed what they thought was happening, and after a moment I bellowed at the men near me to shut their mouths, telling them they would know soon enough. Meanwhile, the aide came galloping back, accompanied by the Legates of the Legions, the feathers on the crests of their helmet streaming in the wind like a flock of crows taking wing.
I walked over and found Primus Pilus Crastinus, who looked at me and grinned. “Well Pullus, looks like ol’ Pompey has finally pulled his head out of his ass and wants to fight, neh?”
I nodded. “It looks that way, Primus Pilus. Maybe this'll be the last battle.”
Crastinus looked at me, a shocked expression on his weathered face. “By the gods, I hope not! I’m no good at peace, Pullus. If we don’t have any more battles to fight, I’ll go mad.”
I laughed. “I meant the last battle of this war, Primus Pilus. There are always other enemies to fight, like Parthia.”
His lips pulled back in a sneer at the mention of one of Rome’s bitterest enemies. “I would love to get stuck into those pricks.” He spat on the ground to emphasize his point. Then he grinned again. “Besides, I hear they’re richer than we are, that their warriors’ armor is inlaid with gold, not just the officers mind you, but the rankers as well.”
Of course, I had heard the same tales, but I was not as sure that I believed them as Crastinus did. Nevertheless, I was not about to disagree with my Primus Pilus, and I simply said that I had heard the same thing and would not mind finding out. As we were finishing our conversation, the call sounded for the Primi Pili to go to Caesar’s standard, and Crastinus clapped me on the shoulder and said, “Well, let me go find out what we’re going to be doing.”
“A thousand denarii that we’re on the right,” I called out to him, but he just laughed and waved off the bet, knowing that it was as close to a sure thing as could be found in the army. As he moved away, I turned and went back to the Cohort, calling for the rest of my Centurions and Optios, who came trotting up.
“We’re going to be getting orders in a minute, and I’m guessing that we’re going to be shaking out over there.” I pointed out what I thought was the likely spot Caesar would want us to occupy, given the direction that Pompey appeared to be marching. Now that he had moved most of the way down the slope, Pompey ordered his army to execute a wheel maneuver that pivoted his lines so that they were perpendicular to his original line of march, putting the river on his far right. A few moments later, Crastinus came striding back, shouting for all first grades to attend to him, and I trotted over along with the other Pili Priores to receive our orders.
“Good thing I didn’t take that bet, Pullus.” Crastinus grinned at me, pointing out where we were to form up before detailing who would be to our left.
Once we received our orders, we returned to our Cohorts, moving them into their positions a few hundred paces away, but not before having them ground their gear where they were standing. The Second would be in our normal spot on the front line next to the First Cohort, but because of our depleted numbers, in order to present the proper width along the front, we had to reduce the depth of the formation to only four men deep. While doing this, Caesar ordered parts of the turf wall of the camp pulled down to enable the rest of the army still inside the camp to move into position more quickly, rather than trying to squeeze through the front gate. The air was filled with the shouted commands of Centurions hurrying their men into their designated spots. Since we were one of the first to form up, we were left with nothing to do but wait, the hardest thing to do before battle, especially when one is alone with their thoughts. I passed the time trying to count up the number of battles this made for me, but soon gave up the attempt. Glancing at my men, I was filled with pride at seeing them stand quietly, with almost bored expressions, professionals simply waiting to go do their job. Oh, when you looked closely, you could see a telltale tapping of fingers on a shield, or a man would be yawning excessively, but those were the only signs of any nerves among them. I turned and headed toward the front rank; Vibius spotted me and turned to call the men to intente but I waved him off. Moving among them, I began tugging on straps, checking buckles, and testing the edges of their blades, even as I knew I would not find anything to complain about. I exchanged jokes, slapped men on the shoulder and teased them about one thing or another; the good times that make life in the army bearable, the funny times that help pass the long watches of monotony. Then I stepped in front of my old nemesis from back when we were tirones, none other than Achilles himself, Spurius Didius.
“Well, Didius, here we are again,” I said, pulling on his straps.
He grinned at me. “Yes, Pilus Prior. A lot of miles, neh?”
“And a lot of fights.” I laughed, and he laughed too, knowing that I was not talking about the battles we fought against Gauls, Spaniards, and Romans, but our own private wars over the years. I looked him in the eyes and said quietly, “Good luck today, Didius.”
Then I offered him my hand, which he took, his eyes glinting with unshed tears. “Same to you, Pilus Prior,” then withdrew his hand, came to intente and saluted me, a salute I was happy to return.
~ ~ ~ ~
By the time I was finished inspecting the Cohort, the army had formed up in the standard acies triplex, mirroring the formation that Pompey was presenting. Commanding the right wing was Publius Sulla, and while not of the same quality of general as his father the Dictator, he was competent. Once Caesar was satisfied with the disposition of the army, he trotted over on Toes, stopping in front of us to look us over for a moment before speaking.
“Comrades,” he cried, “you all know that I have done everything in my power to avoid this moment. Did I not send envoys to Pompey on several occasions in an attempt to end this peacefully? At every opportunity, I have tried to find some sort of accommodation that would leave both of us with our dignitas intact and preserve peace for the Republic, but Pompey has steadfastly refused these overtures.”
He paused for a moment, scanning the faces looking up at him, resplendent in his gilt armor and scarlet paludamentum. Caesar was still bareheaded, it being his habit to wait to don his helmet until the last moment, and it hung by its strap from his saddle.
“I have also done everything I can to preserve this army, to avoid shedding your blood whenever possible. You are all as sons to me, and when one of you falls, I weep. But now we have no choice. Those men,” he swept his arm in the direction of where P
ompey’s command group was gathered behind their formation, “leave us no choice but to fight. Will you fight for me?”
Immediately, he was answered with a roar from every throat as the men raised their javelins, thrusting them into the air before beginning to beat them against the rim of their shields. Caesar sat impassively, listening to this demonstration for a moment before lifting his hand, and we fell silent again.
Turning Toes, he walked him to a spot just in front of Gaius Crastinus and called to him, “What say you, Gaius Crastinus? What are our hopes for victory?”
Crastinus stiffened his back, replying in his parade ground voice, “Victory will be yours Caesar.” Saluting, he finished, “You will conquer gloriously today.”
We cheered again, and while we did so, I saw Caesar lean down to say something to Crastinus, who listened intently. The Primus Pilus nodded, then saluted as Caesar turned Toes, galloping down the line to the left, where he would undoubtedly repeat his speech to the rest of the army. While he did so, Crastinus called some men by name from the First Cohort and had them assemble in front, then trotted over to me.
“Caesar has given me a special assignment,” he said, “and I need at least ten of your best men for the task. But they have to be rankers; we can’t spare taking you or your Optio.”
I thought for a moment, then turned to call out the names of nine men. As they made their way forward, I hesitated for a moment before adding another name.
“Didius!” The surprise on his face was clear, but he came without hesitation. When they were assembled, I told them, “Go join the men from the First over there. Primus Pilus Crastinus has a special assignment from Caesar and we need our best men for it.”
Crastinus had moved onto the next Cohort, and in a few moments, he had a force of about 120 men formed up in front of our line. We could follow Caesar’s progress down the line by the roaring of the men as he exhorted them to give him their best, the sound growing fainter the farther away he went. The far left was commanded by Antonius, where the 8th and 9th, because of their losses at Dyrrhachium, were combined to make one under-strength Legion. The middle was commanded by Domitius, with the youngsters placed in a spot where they could do the least damage. The 11th and 12th were to our left, forming the rest of the right wing. Waiting for Caesar to finish, we saw the enemy cavalry move into position on their far left, to our right, and I immediately saw that we were in trouble. The enemy cavalry force was huge, many times the number of our own, and where they were lining up meant that they intended to swing out before coming down on our right flank in an attempt to roll us up. As Caesar came trotting back, he saw the same thing and stopped at his command group, issuing some orders that sent his aides galloping off to the rear of the formation. I turned to see what was happening, watching as the aides selected roughly every other Cohort in the rear line, then pulling them back into a fourth line. While I was not sure what was planned, I was comforted to know that Caesar saw and understood the danger and I held every confidence that whatever it was he had in mind, it would take care of the problem. Besides, there was nothing I could do about it, so I turned back forward and waited for the command to move out.
~ ~ ~ ~
Despite Sulla being in nominal command of the right wing, Caesar chose to position himself on the right as well, knowing that this was where the biggest danger was, so once more he came trotting back, stopping in front of Crastinus and his hand-picked men.
Crastinus saluted Caesar, then the Primus Pilus turned to the men. “Boys,” he began, “you’ve been my comrades and followed me for a long time. Give Caesar the loyal service you’ve shown me for all these years now. There’s one last battle, and when it’s over, he'll recover his dignitas. . and we’ll be free to get drunk and chase whores!” Turning back to Caesar, he gave a final salute and said, “Today, General, I’ll give you a reason to thank me, whether I’m dead or alive.”
Caesar returned the salute before trotting through the lines to take his place at the rear of the formation. Once he took his position, the command was given to march and we stepped out to close the distance so that we could charge without having to run too far. Pompey’s army had continued marching towards us, but seeing us close the distance, they came to a halt to dress their lines. Meanwhile, we continued forward a few moments longer, waiting for the command to begin the charge, which would be given the instant Pompey’s army began its own. However, even as we closed the distance, no such command was given by Pompey. His army just stood there, waiting for us to charge, seemingly determined not to launch their own countercharge. Finally, the order was given to halt in order for us to redress our lines and to catch our breath, since we would now be covering more distance than we originally thought. We were close enough now to see exactly whom we were facing, and as we were catching our breath, I walked over to Vibius and pointed.
“That’s Pompey’s 1st, and isn’t that the 15th next to them?”
Vibius peered at the enemy lines for a moment, then nodded. “I wonder how the 15th feels about facing us, after all the miles we marched together in Gaul?”
That was the question in my own mind, but since there was no real way of knowing the answer, I just shrugged.
Vibius looked over at the massed cavalry standing motionless except for the horses pawing at the ground, creating a veil of dust that made it hard to distinguish individuals, but managing to make out at least one, he pointed and exclaimed, “Isn’t that that prick Labienus over there?”
I squinted, then after a moment I could make out a figure sitting a horse in a familiar manner, and I nodded. “The gods know I saw him enough to know how he sits a horse. That’s definitely him,” I said.
“We better win then, because that bastard will show us no mercy.” Vibius smiled grimly.
“And if I get the chance, I have a promise to fulfill,” I replied, thinking about my conversation with Albinus.
~ ~ ~ ~
For several moments, the two armies just stood there, looking at each other, and there was a pervasive silence that I have never witnessed before or since. It was so unnerving that the Pompeians became clearly agitated, moving around and even as we watched, their cohesion began to fall apart. Their Centurions started snapping orders at their men to keep still, but we watched the carefully ordered lines simply begin to fall apart. Even as this was happening, Pompey issued the orders for his cavalry to charge, the ground starting to shake when more than 6,000 horses began thundering towards us. Instantly, Caesar ordered our own cavalry to countercharge, despite there being barely 1,000 of them, and now both groups of infantry stood watching them crash together with a horrific sound. Almost immediately, the dust churned up by thousands of pounding hooves obscured most of the action, with only glimpses of what was taking place coming when some freak of the wind cleared the dust away for a moment. In those moments, I spotted Labienus swinging his spatha, the long cavalry sword, above his head as he shouted out commands to his troopers. Through the dust, I saw men falling, and at first, I took heart because it appeared that it was more Pompeians than our own men on the ground, but deep down I knew that with a disparity of more than six to one it could not last. With the cavalry battling on the plain to our right, Pompey ordered his force of archers and slingers, positioned just behind the cavalry, forward into the space just vacated by them, whereupon they began launching volleys of slingshot and arrows at us.
Now, above the sound of the cavalry battle, came the whirring sound of slingshot zipping by, and I yelled out to my men, “Shields up! If any of you bastards gets hit by any of these piddling missiles, you’re on a charge!”
As I expected, this brought a laugh, and not for the first time I had the fleeting wish that I was back in the ranks, safe behind a shield, rather than standing out front with nothing but my vitus to wave at the slings and arrows headed my way. While it is considered bad form for a Centurion to hop and dance about, trying to dodge things headed his way, it is acceptable for us to take a step in one direction or
another. The next few moments found me taking such steps back and forth, convinced that the entire Pompeian force had decided to aim right at me. I was so busy trying not to be skewered or smacked in the face with a lead shot that I did not see Labienus split off part of his force, disengage them from our cavalry, and begin to gallop around our right flank.
~ ~ ~ ~
I honestly do not remember hearing the signal, but it must have been given because as a single unit, the army stepped forward, beginning the advance again, at the quick step. We closed the distance rapidly, then the cornu gave the signal to ready the javelins.
“Prepare, Javelins!”
Behind me, I heard the indrawn breaths of thousands of men readying themselves to hurl their javelin at the enemy, who in turn hunched behind their shields, waiting for the volley to come their way.
“Release!”
The air was filled with the whistling sound of thousands of shafts arcing through the air and despite myself I winced at seeing the slender slivers of wood turn downward to pick up speed. Enemies or not, I could not help feeling sorry for anyone forced to endure a volley of javelins. The sound of the metal heads punching into the wood of the Pompeian shields made a thunderous racket, overlying which were the high-pitched screams of men not fast or lucky enough to block one of the missiles coming at them with their shields.